Fire Your Language Tutor: I Found a Better Way...

     I suck at remembering things. I am much more likely to hold something firm in my mind after reading it and copying it down. Over and over. Pure memorisation. And truth be told- that only sticks around for a while. And I'm lazy. Why do I want to put so much effort into memorising something if it's just going to fade away after awhile? I do concepts, ideas, trends- those I understand. Facts, figures, dates, not so important to me. Sorry, was yesterday your birthday? At least I know that you are a thoughtful, passionate person who always remains positive and surprisingly open minded for someone of your religious persuasion. Ah shit- was that too blunt?

     I'm not a good listener either. Now, I am actually a bit hard of hearing, so I have a difficult time differentiating sounds; I don't always hear everything people are saying to me, and well, it's not that I'm narcissistic so much as I usually have a thousand things darting about my mind, and well, I just don't always have room for more. Many of my friends have noticed this- it's funny how they don't seem to realise that maybe they need to speak a bit more clearly to me, but are the first to point out that I haven't been listening to them, so of course I don't remember when they told me that thing the first time- or the second for that matter. Which is my point, I have an especially hard time remembering things when I hear them.

     All of these things make learning a new language a bit more challenging than it might otherwise be. I don't hear clearly exactly what people say. So even if I've learned a word, I may not recognise it spoken. Conversely, if I learn a word through constant spoken repetition, I will have learned it's significance, but when I try to use it, I am likely to mispronounce it. However, through divine intervention I have discovered a much more effective tool for retaining vocabulary in other languages: sex.

     The other evening, while viscerally enjoying the company of a good friend, he asked me a question in Spanish. While I hadn't yet learned the last word of the question, there was no doubt in my mind as to what I was being asked. Later, it occurred to me to look up the word. And while the dictionary definition is quite different from his meaning- it's not that difficult to see how the slang derived from the original meaning of the word. And I guarantee, I will never forget either meaning. Furthermore, I now have a clearer understanding of Spanish's inherent thought process (the etymology of the slang usage from its original meaning), and thus am one step closer to fluency. It's like, killing three birds with one stone.

     So the next time you think about taking classes or travelling to a new country to inundate yourself in a new language, perhaps it would be more fun to first try taking a lover who doesn't speak your native tongue.

Warning: this method has not been tested in other disciplines, and has only been proven effective for the learning of other languages. Use of this method for learning other than what has been suggested is done so at your own risk. Possible side effects of attempting this method of learning in other subjects include, but are not limited to: loss of sex drive when someone calls out, “what is the square root of pi?” and loss of lover when someone asks, “how many of his wives did King Henry VIII murder or have killed?”

Serial Killers, Expats and Hippies: Where Will You Be Safest?

THE DEAL:
So, some of you may know that there are four ways to get to Panama from Colombia. One of them, to go by land, is nearly impossible (no roads, thus no buses) and quite dangerous (through the treacherous Darién Gap, a guerilla controlled territory), and thus stupid.  Another, the cheapest, is relatively safe but involves finding irregular passages on privately run mini-boats, and thus not terribly popular except with a limited class of Colombians and broke hippies.  By far the two most common ways are by air, the most popular, especially with business and tourist travel, and by independently-expat-owned sail boats that ferry backpackers through the San Blas Islands to Panama City. 
This last option is most popular with backpackers, but also by far the most expensive option at around 400-500USD for a 4-5 day trip.  
Now, in Colombia, I hung out in the ports quite a bit. Befriended the sailors.  Made contacts.  I had almost opted to run with a captian carting backpackers to Panama, but as his cook, for free passage.  But a better opportunity came up, which I shall get to in a moment.  I also had, through a series of connections, met a sailor with whom I nearly sailed the Pacific- but when we had lunch in the Bocas del Toro Islands, he had mentioned how not only did he want to see Nancy Pelosi dead- but he wanted to be the one to push her down the stairs.  You can check out his boat, Dances with Dragons so you know against whom to warn your friends should they feel like sailing around the world with a stranger.


MY CHOICE:
All right, so- the better opportunity:  I hitch hiked for two days through Colombia, from Cartagena to Turbo, whence I caught a boat to some little town whose name I forget and which I can't find on Google Maps, to Capurgana to Olbadia to El Porvenir (San Blas) to Playa Something or Other on the main land just north of the Panama Canal.  Although technically I sailed through San Blas, stopped to refuel a few times, and had lunch with some Kunas, I didn't snorkel off deserted islands or anything.  On the other hand, I did swim across the Colombia/Panama border- and had a quite different, more local, less backpacker, experience.


THE POINT:
When people learned what I was doing, they all said- 'how dangerous!'  'You can't possibly be serious.' 'Why?' et cetera, et cetera.  Now I can explain for hours how much cooler my trip was- even if I missed out on a few things, like deserted Caribbean islands.  And how safe I really was- how generous and helpful were the Colombians, and on and on.  But truthfully, there were many- even a few Colombians, who thought that I shouldn't be going to Turbo, and to be careful, bla bla bla.


THE SERIAL KILLER:
Well, I read the strangest link on Face Book.  My Australian friend posted a link with the headline: Serial Killer Javier Martin Captured in Santa Fe, Darien , and her status reading: 'so... they caught the captain we sailed with from Colombia/Panama last year...'  What the ---? And I read on...


TO REITERATE THE POINT:
I hung out in the docks in Cartagena for a month, meeting and befriending expat sailors, exchanging information and creating a network from which I could make contacts to sail the world.  I continued networking in the famed expat favoured islands of Bocas del Toro, especially popular among sailors who wait for clearance to cross the Panama Canal in these ideal islands.  It was here, in these ports, in which I passed nearly two months, that I was living close to two known serial killers.
To reiterate: when I found myself hanging around expatriots in tourist regions, I was in fact, in much more danger than when I hung out with hippies and poverty-stricken locals in the poorer regions of South and Central America.  

The Top 10 Differences Between Working In Mexico and The US

10)     If your neighbours have a WiFi connection that is not password-protected, it is acceptable to hang a sign reading 'WiFi zone'.

 9)     When the electricity goes out, which is often, it does not mean that the restaurant closes, just that you need to buy more ice.

 8)     Neither is lack of plumbing a reason for closing.  Water can easily be obtained next door.

 7)     When something breaks, it can be rigged back together with whatever is handy- how it looks is not a concern.  If said object cannot be fixed by oneself, it will not be repaired/ replaced until the staff threaten to revolt due to frustration of not having a properly functioning said object.

 6)     Change for large bills comes from neighbours, not banks.

 5)     Showing up within a half hour of your scheduled in-time is perfectly acceptable and not considered tardy.

4)     When you ask for your salary four days after you should have been paid, your bosses ask you how many days you worked and how much they're paying you.

3)     If there weren't a shrine to the Virgin Mary, complete with crucifix and candles burning at all times, we would all go to Hell.

2)     It's not sexual harassment when your bosses tell you that you need to dress more sexy at work.

1)     It's rude if you don't kiss your boss (or anyone else for that matter) every time you come and go.

II

I opened my soul
To free my mind
Only to find
That I was more free
With my apathy.

I

My heart aches as I think of you;

that it were possible- who knew?

For years I denied them their existance-

but the heart breaks through the mind's resistance;

now I find myself confronted;

my mind- my body- feel disjointed.

My heart stops at the memory

of your kiss that so tenderly

dismantled my walls, so carefully built,

fortified by years of guilt

and feer and loss and lessons learned;
that for so long I have not yearned.

The First Thing That I Noticed About Colombia

Winding my way through the humbling Andes of southern Colombia on a minibus, I was captivated by all of the people in the lively, one road towns that we passed through. Vibrant buildings, hammocks and pool tables beneath light canopies of banana leaves, dissipated into the arbour as quickly as it they had come into existence two hundred yards back. Some we passed through rapidly, and they registered as nothing more than blips in the window, each a fading mirage. Others we drove through slowly, noticing every smiling face as women carried baskets of watermelon on their heads to the minibus, men momentarily put down their pool cues, and children looked up from behind the cash register of their family's shop. The elders sat in plastic chairs, in front of every home and shop, guitars and drums resting upon their knees. Shopkeepers hung out windows and stood in doorways. All around people were working and talking and smiling.
Each town was the same, every thirty minutes coming upon another, their happiness and energy so contagious that even those of us on the bus, tired and hot, trying to wait patiently to arrive at our stops, couldn't help but be overcome by their animism. We would buy their juices and fruits, become energised and begin talking with them, and continuing amongst ourselves after we departed, until once again the heat drained our energy. The towns became our oasis, infusing us with life each time we passed. As the day wore on, and the sun faded behind the mountains, the lights of the town served as beacons in the dark while the cool night air revitalised us and the women in the towns sold chicken and soda. Throughout the entire southern region, these towns dotted the Andes like ornaments on a Christmas tree, giving off energy, love and camaraderie.
The Caribbean Coast offers more of the same, sandy white beaches replacing the lush green foliage of the mountains. From the villages to the cities and beach towns, the atmosphere does not change. Shopkeepers hang out their stores talking with the street vendors. Those who are not working visit their friends who are, seated upon plastic chairs in outdoor foyers. In every direction the narrow lanes are filled with people talking animatedly. When evening falls upon the town and shops close, folks gather in the plazas to talk about their days.
Enveloped in such an atmosphere, it is impossible not to be overcome by the joviality of Colombia. Though civil wars have cast a shadow upon this land for over a century, often throwing the country into mass depression, now there is a catharsis of good vibes permeating throughout.

Winning the Lottery

     I imagine that winning the lotto is an amazing feeling- I wouldn't know. I've only played the lotto once, and it was only because it was my turn to play Santa, and I filled the stockings with a dozen or so lotto tickets for my family and myself. Winnings were conditioned upon the fact that if anyone actually won, they had to use the money to go towards funding a family compound. I think the most any of us won was a free lotto ticket. No cash. Certainly not enough to fund a family home.

     I hear one is more likely to be stuck by lightening than to win the lottery.

     In fact, I've never really won anything. Well, I have won sports contests- but nothing like a new car, or money, or some random prize in a raffle. Wait- I won an ipod once. Funny story. I had been up all night (in Vegas) partying with my friends. When 7:00am rolled around- I was still rollin'... My friends and I were all in some sort of daze, hovering in and out of sleep, the various drugs in our systems vying for control of our mental activity. When I realised the time, I jumped off the couch, suddenly fully alert. The room full of people looked at me confusedly, still in my work uniform from my shift the previous evening.

     I've got to go! I exclaimed.

     You're not really going to that party are you? They all wanted to know. It's lame! It's not like you're going to win the ipod or anything. Somehow I had found myself in a room full of people that had all worked where I was working, had all been to the same company party, and had all been fired. I didn't even know that there was an ipod being raffled off- but apparently, they do it every year. Ironically, I did win it- the last prize awarded, and the only one I received.

     So, I do know what it's like to win something. It's a good feeling, and almost makes up for the feelings of disappointment of consistently not winning anything, an entire day full of prizes awarded, none to you. But perhaps an even better feeling would be the one you have when you tell someone that they've won something. You get to vicariously experience their joy, without the preceding trepidation of thinking that you'll never win.

     One of the greatest feelings I've ever experienced was telling someone that they won the lotto. It happened like this:

     I was sitting by a window in an internet café in Machala, Ecuador, reading a book and sipping on a cup of bad coffee while my friend surfed the internet. Machala is an unremarkable town- it feels like any suburb in The States, but closer to the Equator. Sitting in the corner, I noticed in my peripheral a man approaching. He looked flustered, holding a stack of papers in disarray, his glasses tilted, and slightly hunched over, his demeanour suggested that he was internally fighting between hopeful anticipation and disappointment, frantic and confused.

     He walked directly towards me, so I gave him my attention. In Spanish, he introduced himself, and said that my friend had indicated that I may be able to help him. The stack of papers he held were in English, which he could not read. My friend, neither a native English nor Spanish speaker, had expressed that I would be able to better help him.

     I smiled, introduced myself, and explained that I could tell him, generally, what the papers said, but would not be able to provide a direct or complete translation. He smiled eagerly, sat down, and handed me the papers.

     Before saying anything, I briefly looked over the pile. The first few pages were certificates, of sorts, and licences. Then letters and emails originating in England and Nigeria. Intrigued, I began to tell him what they were. A licence of operation. A certificate of funds awarded. A certificate of authenticity from the FBI. Then, multiple letters from a law enforcement agency in the UK, from the FBI, from some random woman in Nigeria. Also, a notice of funds transferred, and a notice of fees for funds transferred. As I read over the documents, A story began to emerge:

     The man with whom I was speaking had been told that he had won a UK lottery. When the money was to be transferred, it went from Nigeria, to the UK, the US and finally to Ecuador, sending off numerous red flags to the appropriate agencies. A Nigerian man in the UK was jailed and my new friend was informed of the apparent fraud. A week later, at the internet café, he had checked his email to find dozens of letters from the various agencies. They explained that no fraud had taken place, the Nigerian had been released from jail, the money was in the process of being transferred, for a fee of £11,000, and that he was, in fact, the recipient of £250,000.

     The only thing that didn't add up: a letter from a mysterious Nigerian woman, dated more recently than any of the other documents, saying that she hoped that she and the Ecuadorian man could keep things quiet and between them, until the matter was all sorted out. However, the dates on the other documents indicated that it had already been resolved. My only explanation: it still takes longer to get information to Nigeria than to Ecuador.

     It was a crazy story, for me reading the documents, and for the poor man whose hopes and dreams were continually raised and dashed. To be the one to tell him, definitively, that he had, in fact, won $400,000 is perhaps one of the coolest things I have ever done.

     Now, if only I got a translation fee...